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Serpentine, Volume 3, Number 1, Winter 1999

Blood Red With Dawn

by David Ritchie


When the mountain was blood red with dawn
I made an altar of smooth stones
then kneeled and called your name.

I heard your call.

When the river boiled with white foam
between scared rocks, I stood waist deep
and cried out for you.

I heard you call my name.

On the plains where our ancestors lay
in the grasp of sacred boughs
I cast stones upon the ground
and looked for your there.

I was there.

At dawn you were like the morning mist
at once visible, and not.
As distant as the dimmest dream.
Is that your voice in the morning winds?

Yes, it is I.

I have been bowed to the earth
by the thundering tempest
but your presence is the eye of the storm
when this life rages around me.
Where are you now?

I am of you, and of the earth, and of the stars.

I could now look upon the earth
with eyes transcending those of man
for she always heard my cry.



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